Hell Hath No Fury

In September, while renewing my auto insurance, I found out that my Ex cancelled my AAA membership without telling me. It seems he wanted to add someone else to his membership. Since we only broke up last April, I guess he couldn't wait for the corpse of the relationship to grow cold before replacing me.

No doubt she is a good Christian woman. No doubt he is using catching little phrases like:

I would die for you (circa February 2004)
I will love you forever (circa March 2004)
You are the most beautiful woman I have ever know (okay, so I added that one myself)

Part of me is thirsty for revenge of the most devious sort, to make him feel the sting of anger and humiliation. Part of me couldn't really give a flying fuck and a rolling donut. That is the beauty of being Sychotic, I can feel both things at the same time.

So, instead I will amuse myself with things I could do to him:

I could leave a sardine to rot under the seat of his car. This might only irritate him though

I could send a change of address form for him, redirecting all his mail to Scarsboro Indiana...if there is a Scarsboro Indiana.

I could order gay porn in his name to be sent to his address...costly, but satisfying. Of course, if he hides it in time, it might not be sufficiently humiliating.

I could send a letter to the Mormon Chruch, requesting they send him a free copy of their bible...and a couple dozen missionaries.

I could sleep with his loser brother...but that might punish me more than it does him.

Any really good revenge ideas to fantasize about? I don't have the energy to actually do anything, besides talk smack about him behind his back.

More of my Sordid Past

I used to work in a card room. Card rooms are chock full of colorful characters, but most of the stories are so strange that most people question their veracity as truth is truly stranger than fiction.

I had a boss named Jack. Jack was a short man, and as many short men will, he developed a very tall character to balance out his lack of stature.

Jack was full of colorful sayings. I will add more as I remember them, but here are a couple:

That woman looks like she was hit with an ugly stick, or maybe the whole damned tree.

That woman looks like she fell out of the ugly try and hit every branch on the way down.

I wish you had a million dollars and I had a nickel and we were on a slow boat to China, 'cause you money would be mine before we were halfway there.

I got more money than God. I know this is true, because the priests went and spent all his.

I learned a lot of valuable lessons in that cardroom:

1. If you are sitting at a card table and don't see a fish (sucker) get up, 'cause you're the fish.

2. When a fight breaks out, cover your chips. Fights have a way of costing you money.

3. People always remember their loans but never their debts.

4. The guy who buys the most chips usually leaves with the most.

5. The only sure winner is the house.

6. Gamblers are the most superstitious critters on earth.

7. The appearance of stupidity keeps you out of far more trouble than the appearance of savvy.

8. Never piss of the dealer because far too many of them know how to cheat.

Medic

As a medic in the military, I found that medical personnel have a macabre sense of humor. I know it is a coping mechanism, but it took a while to get used to it. ON the first day in the Emergency Room, one medic was urged to give a patient on a gurney CPR. The poor medic kept at it for nearly 30 minutes before exhaustion started to set in and a kindly nurse finally let him know that it was okay to stop because the patient had been declared dead an hour ago.

Practice makes perfect I guess. I am glad it wasn't me though.

One day I was instructed to give a heart patient a bedbath. I have performed many of these and I had come to be fairly expert at that time. This was my first day on the cardiac ward as loaner. Before that I have worked in Pediatrics and later the unspecified ward where we get a lot of old people with congestive heart failure.

I grabbed my supplies and headed to the room for the bedbath. When I walked in the door, there was a 28 year old, fully awake MAN. I had never given a bedbath to anyone over 10 or under 70. I stopped dead in my tracks, blushed furiously, set the soapy water and sponge in front of the startled patient and RAN FOR THE HILLS.

...it turns out all the nurses were waiting right outside the room and had a gleeful chuckle due to my obviously embarrassed state.

I have noticed that far from being the "weaker" sex, women seem to deal with blood a whole lot better than men do. Far more men seem to pass out from shots, blood taking, and general goriness.

Which leads me to the question, why is a spineless guy called a "pussy"? I mean, geez, females tend to deal with the whole puking, bleeding, incontinence and other bodily fluids thing a whole lot better.

Post Turkey Brain Freeze

There is something about sitting around the house like a big worthless lump for four or five days that causes the brain to go into hibernation mode. I haven't had one creative thought this whole Turkey Day Celebration.

My sister is due to have her baby in the next two weeks. It is going to be a girl and they have already selected the name. They are going to call her Riley Noel. When I think of Riley, I either think of "The life of Riley" (which I alway thought was a GUY) or I think of Sigourney Weaver in Alien(s) I- III. They thought the baby was going to be born the day after Thanksgiving due to medical problems and were in a panic....BECAUSE THEY WOULD HAVE TO CHANGE THE MIDDLE NAME.

(is it just me, or when you are going to have an emergency C-Section is this not the LEAST of your worries?!)

They just couldn't give Riley the middle name Noel if she wasn't born in December. (insert an amazing amount of eye rolling right here)

On some level I would be laughing my ass off if the sonograms were all wrong and they had a boy. Riley would still work, but that wardrobe full of pink dresses might not.

Random Crap

Things are really weird and hectic this week, so I thought I would throw up some random crap and see what sticks.

Why is it that any juxtaposition of a bag of shaved cats and a jar of peanut butter just sounds -- well -- dirty?

Women are more proactive than men. A woman will think, 'I am starting to look old and wrinkly,' which will probably spur her into buying 100s of dollars of beauty supplies - am man will go golfing.

I won't wear those butt floss type underwear. I spent way too many years picking my panties OUT of my buttcrack.

Who in the world was it that first looked at a lobster (which look a lot like a bug to me) and thought, 'a little butter and that sucker would be YUMMY.'

Mascara is a weird concept when you really think about it. Women are always trying to get rid of hair be it by shaving, waxing or plucking. We generally aren't into the whole thicker darker and longer thing.

Why are all good looking women's shoes so damned painful? Is there a law against attractive and comfortable shoes? If so, where is it written and how can we overturn it?

Why are squirrels cute and rats ugly? Is it all marketing or is the tail really that important?

How many days in a row can a man wear the same pants before people start thinking that he is weird?

How come a man's suit will stay in fashion for ten years, but if I wear last year's suit it is painfully obvious? Can't we find a 'look' and stick with it? I choose black. Lots and lots of black. It matches everything and is slimming, sort of like Garanimals for adults.

What do you say when someone shows you an ugly baby picture? What if they can tell if you are lying?

Does any guy look good sporting a Fu Man Chu mustache/beard thingee? If so, who?

Am I wrong in thinking that any guy using a handicap placard shouldn't be jogging at lunchtime every day?

Military Justice

The military is ingenious at meting out punishment. They are endlessly imaginative in the ways of discipline. Here are a few I remember quite clearly:

Love Rocks and Pocket Rocks
It is a rule in the military that you cannot put your hands in your pockets, nor are PDAs (public displays of affection) such as holding hands allowed. Trainees found breaking these rules can be given either the infamous "Love Rock" or the equally embarrassing "Pocket Rocks." The Love Rock is carried with the trainee everywhere they go and never set down, except perhaps in their lap. The trainee is often stuck with this rock of love until another trainee is unfortunate enough to screw up in a similar manner, at which time he will inherit the stupid rock. Pocket rocks come in pairs and are smaller, they fit in the front pockets and are generally carried around for a few days. At least this punishment isn't painful.

The Gum Tree
A soldier caught chewing gum was forced to dig a hole in the red sandy soil of South Carolina. He was then told to chew the gum real good to "water it" then bury it in the hole and mark the spot. The next day, the Sergeant check the spot and said, "Well, that gum tree sure ain't growin' the way its supposed to, guess you didn't water it enough." At which point the soldier was forced to dig up the gum and chew it some more in order to 'water' it some more and make it grow. This could go on for days until the sergeant lost interest or found another trainee to torment.

The Grease Pit
The chow hall stoves have a grease trap. This is a 2x2' hole in the concrete where cooking grease gathers. A very popular punishment was to make soldiers clean the grease pit out with a spoon. Often more ended up on the unfortunate soldier than in the trash can. It would take days to get the smell of rancid grease off your skin and hair. Smiling or laughing at anyone sentenced to the grease pit only got you a matching spoon.

10 Stop Drop
This was a favorite. The Sergeant would have a recruit run to a predetermined spot and back. Every time the counted to ten, the recruit had to stop, drop and count out ten push ups (thus the name, not imaginitive but very ). Sergeants can count to ten mighty fast when they want to.

I was once sentenced to the grease pit for failing to close the lock on my locker, but I cried so pitifully that the Sergeant told me I was worthless and weak and ordered me to get out of his face. Sometimes it pays off to be a girl.

I did once have to do scuba , but that didn't hurt, just got my uniform all wet. In South Carolina in the summertime, that isn't always a bad thing.

The Hardest Part

People often ask me wht the hardest thing about basic training was. I thought about that for a long time and came up with some contenders

The Push-ups sucked, but you sorta get used to them after a while.

Running 2 - 5 miles every morning really wasn't my bag of tea, but you get used to that too.

Getting Yelled at is no party either, but you grow a thick skin

The Shitty Food is even okay, if you get enough of it.

The hardes thing was the 24/7 aspect of the whole thing. You never get a break. You never get to be alone, even on the John. The four stalls don't have doors, so if you have to have a 'sit down' you get to do it right out there in the open under the auspices of your fellow trainees.

There were four showerheads and three trainees would use each one all at the same time. You learn to wet, step back, lather, rinse, stepback, shampoo, rinse. You learn to do this really fast in cold water.

They don't call you G.I. (Government Issue) for nothing. The military owns your ass lock, stock and barrel. Getting a sunburn can net you an Article 15 for damaging government property.

I still work for the Government, so I guess they still own me, but at least I get to go home at night.

*searches for spy cameras*
*puts on tinfoil hat*

Military Shower
Why is it that in any platoon of the Army there always one Hollywood, one Private Benjamin and one Gomer Pile? There is also one pathetic loser that reminds me of that guy from "Full Metal Jacket."

Ours was a meaty redhead that, having escaped the clutches of some Middle America baloney scarfing family, decided that showers were now completely off the menu.

(note: nothing against Middle America or baloney, but this soldier looked like she was carved out of the stuff. Normally, most of my Middle America soldier friends were clean and neat until they had one too many at the bar.)

Summer in South Carolina is hot and humid, which is some sweat including, body funk inciting weather to be sure. With sixty trainees stuffed into bunks in a WWII army barracks without no air conditioning, tempers were short to begin with. The only thing cold was the showers, they never fixed the hot water heater the entire time we were there (12 weeks).

About two weeks into basic training, we were learning CPR on those "Resusci-Annie" dolls. I was *shudder* right behind Stinky, our literal example of the great unwashed masses (or mass if you prefer). As the Sergeant was swabbing Annie's mouth for my rescue attempt (thank god for alcohol!) she said to the three of us who were still in line.

"That solder is disgusting and unsanitary. I don't care what you have to do, but that soldier will be clean in the morning or else."

We knew the score. If there is one thing true of the military, they are fond of punishing the whole squad or platoon or even company for the actions of a single soldier. They use peer pressure very effectively.

It didn't take long for word to get around, and that night after everyone else had showered (which didn't take long when there is no hot water) We confronted Stinky in front of her bunk.

We reminded her that it was shower time
No Luck

We told her that the Sergeant ordered it
No Luck

We yelled at her to get her greasy ass into the shower
No Luck

Finally, totally disgusted, tired and ready to write our letters home, we carried her into the shower, stripped her to her personals and scrubbed the living daylights out of her squirming, cursing form.

We tossed a towel to the not so stinky Stinky and let her know that she would be getting more of the same if she stopped bathing ever again.

We only had to do that once.
Until the crabs incident...

Be All That You Can Be
...to which we would inevitably reply, "Cold, Wet, Hungry, Tired."

I was lucky. I was in the Army during a time of relative peace. I was trained by men who served in Viet Nam. These were men who understood why the military exists and how to survive in a very hostile environment. These were guys that, given an officers sidearm (which is what Medics are given) will take the first M-16 that is left behind by a comrade who has died.

I got to hear stories about buddies gutted like frogs, traumatic amputations (that is when a limb is blown off by a mine) sucking chest wounds, small entry wounds and big exit wounds, all viewed first hand by my instructors.

These are military men that were trained to both kill and save lives. These were career military men who served to make sure that we could live in relative safety here at home.

I have a great respect for career military. I almost went career military myself. What I don't have respect for is any administration that would take their sacrifices lightly. That would commit them to an unwinnable war for a people who DO NOT want us to be there. (If you doubt their unhappiness with the occupation, please feel free to read the links at the left, these are educated Iraqis who have a pretty decent grasp of world events).

I don't like to show my softer side, but I have a very difficult time reading the truth about what is going on in Iraq. It makes me physically ill. It makes me want to weep and vomit at the same time. I do not have a weak stomach, having worked in military hospitals for a time, but my entire being rejects this war.

I apologize if this sounds political. I didn't intend for it to be, in fact I was going to tell really amusing Basic Training stories for y'all. Mabye tomorrow I will.

Kill That Turkey

It is fast closing on that long standing tradition, Turkey Day, when all the family comes to eat of much goodly goodness, drink too much, doze in front of the television and argue about who was more wronged in Junior Highschool.

I personally hate Thanksgiving. I hate having to buy the food, cook the food, clean the dishes, clean the house, or even talk to the family. Normally, I like a nice out of country vacation instead. Year before last I was having surf and turf while watching the sun set on the Caribbean instead of having family over. Why couldn't I be that smart again?!

My kitchen has been under construction since June and there are no signs that it will be ready in time for the big day. I still don't have doors on any of the cabinets and the drawers aren't back in yet. Two walls are nothing but drywall with no paint and only half the crown moulding is up. *sigh*

Maybe I should book us a table at one of the restaurants in the area, it wouldn't cost much more and there wouldn't be dishes to clean (worth at least $20 bucks all by itself!) but even if I pull off Turkey Day, I am still supposed to have Christmas at my house.

Time to get out the cattle prod and aim it at the contractor. I wonder where I should hit him first?